The Damned Lies Project

Things that never happened to me and a couple of things that did

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(We’re All)

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Wherein the clone saga comes to a conclusion… on a boat.

The Circle Line is a ferry that operates out of South Street Seaport in Manhattan.  Long time New Yorkers will tell you how it is the main way to get to Liberty Island and the Statue of Liberty.  Long time New Yorkers will also likely tell you that they’ve never actually been on it or to see the Statue of Liberty unless they were required to because of a school trip.  You’d be amazed at how many of the touristy things that locals have never done.  Empire State building? Nope.  Statue of Liberty? Nope.  Carnegie Hall?  Nope, not even with practice. Read the rest of this entry »

Death Ray

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Wherein a death ray is discussed and WHAT THE HELL ELSE DO YOU NEED TO KNOW? A GODDAMN DEATH RAY, PEOPLE!

When a man decides to kill his clone, he needs to be properly armed.

“The next thing I think I’ll need is some sort of death ray,” I said, putting the package into my backpack.  “We have Plan B covered,” I said, tapping the backpack, “but I really want something more subtle for Plan A.  So I’m thinking death ray.”

“Death ray?” scoffed Victor.  “Death ray?  Everyone thinks that inventors just have death rays just sitting around.  ‘Oh you’re an inventor?  Have you made a death ray yet?’  ‘How’s the inventing going?  What’s your death ray like?’  I’m sick of it.”

I was over at Bruce’s house, hitting up Victor for a solution to my clone problem.  Bruce was not home, and I was realizing that Victor was very different without Bruce around.

“Do they think I’m made of money?” continued Victor.  “I’m only in the 9th grade.  Of course I would have a death ray if I could afford it.  Read the rest of this entry »

Confrontation

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Wherein I have a long discussion with myself and testicular pain occurs.

I watched my clone through the high powered camera lens sticking out from the bushes.  He sat on a park bench with Claudia.  They looked the happy couple – smiling, giggling, leaning close to each for a look or a touch, completely at ease.

It made me sick. Read the rest of this entry »

Homecoming

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Wherein there is a sort of reunion.

It was a dark and stormy night.  The type of dark and stormy night that authors love and movie cinematographers shake their heads in annoyance of when the books are finally made into movies.  The rain was coming down in sheets and lightning whipped across the sky, momentarily revealing the darkness.

A lone figure walked up the driveway and knocked on the door.  The doorbell was ignored.

Bruce opened the door.  He opened only the main door, the storm door remained closed.  He looked at the figure out there.  A dark figure, not easily recognizable in the dark rain.

He gnawed at the pretzel rod he had grabbed before opening the door and turned back towards the house.  “Hey Victor, did one of your monsters escape again?” Read the rest of this entry »

Here’s a nice catch up for anyone needing a refresher on the continuity.  Next week: new and exciting plot developments!  Somebody dies!*

Read the rest of this entry »

Hitchhikers

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Wherein pants are dropped and there is much awkwardness.

No travelogue of a cross-country trip hitchhiking across America would be complete with the very depiction that puts the current travelogue into perspective:  other hitchhikers.

I met a few on my trip across our great nation, but they all seemed to fall within two main categories:  those hitchhiking by choice and those doing it by accident, out of unfortunate necessity.  I had started my journey in the former category, but after my crash landing in Oklahoma, I was firmly planted in the secondary category.  I wanted to get home in the shortest, least risky, least permanently damaging way possible. Read the rest of this entry »

The Last Wish by Andrzej Sapkowski is the first book in a series of books about the witcher Geralt.  Popular in their native Poland, these books have expanded to a worldwide appeal, inspiring, among other things, even a popular PC game with a sequel coming out next year.  The Last Wish is the first book about the character, incorporating a number of short stories into a novel.

Geralt is a witcher, a man who hunts the monsters of the world.  This world is a medieval world on the low fantasy end: there are magicians, but they are treated with a mixture of distrust and respect, with many powerless charlatans mixed with actual mages who are just as scheming.  A witcher knows some magic, but distrusts magicians and their kind, as much as the general public mistrusts witchers.  A common theme is how the occupants of towns need witchers to dispose of their monsters, but once the monsters are gone, they don’t watch the witcher hanging around.

The novel is written with one common story, and every other chapter a short story told as if it were a flashback.  The main story involves Geralt recuperating from some wounds as a temple in a town as the local prince’s intolerant knights demand he leaves immediately.  That story itself is more of a setup for the individual stories rather than its own tale, much like an episode of KungFu.  The main story ends on a pseudo-cliffhanger, assumedly setting the stage for the next book, which I expect to be one full story rather than collected tales.

Overall, the stories are interesting and enjoyable, showing different sides of the witcher and the world.  The world is based heavily on folklore, particularly the darker side of Grimm’s fairytales.  Every monster is out of European folklore, and there are references here and there to stories we know such as Cinderella, Snow White, etc.  These references are only slightly humorous, instead showing how those tales fit in this darker world.  Intolerance runs deep in these stories, both of the witcher as well as magicians.  Kings do as they will and town elders will make the deals they need to for the town to remain safe, even if those aren’t the most moral things.  There are some good people, but many more people trying to get by, who are willing to trade in some ethical high ground for some success.

Geralt himself is a dour man who is generally not very talkative.  He does have his rules.  While he is always willing to kill monsters for money, he refuses to kill people for money, not matter his skill at it.  Though he shows himself supernaturally capable of defeating monsters, he is an older protagonist, one who is seeing his skills slowly tarnish as age creeps upon him.  The world is changing and less monsters to kill means less money for him, so there’s a definite feeling from him that his way of life will eventually end.  His character gets more interesting later in the novel, where stories include a companion, the lecherous and boastful troubadour Dandilion, who provides not only commentary to lighten things for the reader, but is himself a source of plot developments, as he foolishly acts when the far more careful and controlled witcher would not.

The style of fantasy is interesting.  The world and the characters at first glance is very similar to the sword and sorcery seen more in 1970s fiction such as Leiber and Moorcock.  But the writing of the fiction is a much more comfortable fantasy style seen more in 1980s and 1990s higher fantasy fiction.  This is generally more readable for most readers, but of course lacks the descriptions of scantily clad females and hordes of gold found in the earlier style.

Overall, this is a worthwhile read if you enjoy fantasy, and a nice introduction to yet another dour swordsman to follow the adventures of.  While for the most part there’s nothing amazingly new, both the world and the witcher himself have qualities to distinguish themselves and make this world worth reading.

Wherein I learn about shoplifting and suntan bottles lie.

I remember a time in high school where I took a trip to the beach.  Growing up on Long Island, the beach was always accessible within about thirty to forty minutes of driving, which meant I almost never meant.  The same way I’ve never been to the top of the Statue of Liberty, something nearly every Manhattan tourist schedules.  Sure I went to the beach a few times with parents when younger, but I just didn’t in my high school and junior high years.  Perhaps I ran with too pasty-faced a crowd that sun worshipping was never a suggested topic.  Maybe they traded in their offerings to Apollo for those to Dionysus – I know later on this was definitely true.

On this day, I went to the beach by myself.  It was a hot Sunday afternoon in August.  By hot, I mean the heat and sunlight could sear the flesh off an unfurred animal within minutes, leaving mere bones, as if attacked by some crowd of solar piranhas. Yes, worse places have worse summers.  But in New York, August is some hellish month where both heat and humidity assail you and you wish that you can pull off your own skin to be cooler.  Woe to those who need to use subways in August. Read the rest of this entry »

Route 66 #2

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Wherein I keep on truckin’

A friendly hand shook me awake.

“Mom?” I said groggily, wondering when my bed had become so uncomfortable and covered with faux leather.

There was a giggle and then a drawling response.  “I ain’t your mom, Sugah.  Don’t make me feel so old.”

I sat up and groggily returned to my senses.  I was still in the roadside diner in Oklahoma.  I had finished my very delicious burger and fries.  Audrey said she’d work on getting me a ride, so she let me sit down in the corner booth for a while.  Since it was late, she wasn’t sure when a ride would show up.  At a certain point, I had just gotten so tired.  I told myself I would just lay and relax for a few minutes, but I guess sleep overtook me.

I squinted out the windows and saw it was morning – just barely.  The sun was just barely over the horizon, the daylight much more gold than I had ever seen it.  If I hadn’t been so tired, my eyes so red, I would have enjoyed it more.  Instead I found myself searching my backpack to see if I had sunglasses.  No luck. Read the rest of this entry »

Route 66

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Wherein I muse about America for a while.

Overjoyed as I was at being back in civilization, that still left me in an uncertain position.  I had been dropped somewhere along Route 66.  For those not familiar with the intimates of American geography, Route 66 is a very long road.  It stretches from California through the middle of America and then up to Chicago (though some biased readers may suggest that it begins in Chicago and ends in California instead).  I knew that I was on it, but I didn’t know where.  Before my sojourn through the wasteland, I had thought that I was in Texas or New Mexico.  But after that dream-like experience of dark worlds and walking houses, all bets were off on where I ended up.  I wouldn’t be surprised if I was in Oz.

Lost with only a backpack full of meager possessions is in some people’s minds a very romantic way to get to know a place.  Having been there, I disagree.  Sure, if this were Paris, Rome, London or New York City, I might agree.  But when you’re on a highway at night with darkness as far as the eye can see, you are not very endeared to the desolate expanse.  I was tired and hungry, weary of travelling and wanting a bed where I didn’t expect a crazy person to wake me up with cryptic words in the middle of the night. Read the rest of this entry »

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